


maybe it's a test (we'll figure out the rest)

by doctorkaitlyn



Category: Eyewitness (US TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Continuation, Diners, Episode: s01e03 Bella Bella Bella, Kissing, M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 14:53:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8894989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorkaitlyn/pseuds/doctorkaitlyn
Summary: More than any other place Philip has ever been to, an all-night diner in the early hours of the morning is simultaneously the most unwelcoming and the most comforting. 
(or, in the early hours of the morning, after they leave the club and before they have to go back to Tivoli, Philip and Lukas find a place of peace under the glaring lights of an all-night diner.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> the working title of this was 'soft boys in a soft diner,' so that's basically what to expect here. 
> 
> title from [You're The Best](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7dbPQP38Twk) by Wet, which is _such_ a Philkas song, seriously.

More than any other place Philip has ever been to, an all-night diner in the early hours of the morning is simultaneously the most unwelcoming and the most comforting. 

On the surface, there’s certainly nothing about any of them-

(because if there’s one thing Philip has learned, it’s that they all look the same, aside from small variations in the stained tiles and decorations on the wall) 

-that _looks_ comforting. The lights are always cranked up way too high, bright white bars of fluorescents glaring down from metal cages marching across the entirety of the ceiling. The floor is pitted and stained linoleum, cracked and discolored from years or decades of feet tramping across it. The coffee tastes and looks like oil, the music overhead drifts through tinny speakers, and the service is decent on a very rare day, mediocre or downright hostile the rest of the time. 

Everything about them seems designed to keep people from coming back, or from coming in at all.

But the thing about being in such an uncomfortable space, with cracked vinyl seats still bearing cigarette burns and corners that remain shadowy even under the blazing lights, is that the people who frequent such spaces have secrets, and they’re so determined to keep those secrets that they don’t bother anyone else. The chance of accidentally starting up a conversation is slim to none. Neither the serving staff or the other scattered customers ask questions, even when you’re a fourteen year old with knobby knees, swimming in an too-big leather jacket, stumbling through the doors at a time when most kids are fast asleep. 

Philip has always appreciated that lack of curiosity. And he appreciates it even more now that he’s grown into the jacket and he’s no longer sitting alone in the booth tucked into the back of the room. 

The grimy clock sitting high up on the wall says that it’s just past three o’clock in the morning. Their expedition to the club was hours ago. After Lukas had kissed him-

(which, yeah, the club expedition may have crashed and burned but Lukas had actually _kissed_ him, in public, curled his fingers around the back of Philip’s neck and kissed him like he’d been doing it for years)

-they’d walked around for a few hours, sticking to well-lit streets. Philip had pointed out some places that held memories for him (but only the good ones), and Lukas talked about some of the places he’d been to on school trips. They’d mainly been to the big landmarks; the Statue of Liberty, Central Park, the giant toy store that used to be on Fifth Avenue, Times Square. Lukas said that the last had been way too overwhelming, and Philip was inclined to agree. The sheer amount of foot traffic notwithstanding, Times Square was nothing less than a frenetic orgy of lights and sound and sensation. He could only imagine how dizzying the place must have been to someone from Tivoli, where the most exciting things to ever happen were pep rallies or bonfire parties at someone’s house. 

Their hands had brushed constantly, barely there twitches of knuckles against knuckles. They’d kissed twice more, in the mouths of alleyways Philip trusted to be safe, if only for a few moments. Each time had been brief, but Lukas had been _there_ , fully present in his body the entire time, hands splayed against Philip’s neck like he was trying to memorize the rhythm of his heartbeat.

For those few moments, Philip almost managed to forget that they had to go back to Tivoli come morning. If he didn’t think, if he just let himself sink into the physical sensation of Lukas’ lips on his, he could imagine that he was still living in the city, that Lukas really was Rick Anderton, some guy he met online or at school, some guy who wasn’t going to disavow him the moment they got back to town. 

They’d been good moments, and he committed them to memory, for the day that he’d inevitably need them to answer the question of why he was still putting himself through hell. 

They’d ended up at the diner half an hour after the second one of those kisses. As soon as they’d turned a corner, Philip had recognized the glowing neon sign jutting out over the sidewalk, recognized the over-bright light spilling from the plate glass windows marching across the front of the building. 

He wasn’t actually sure if he’d ever been to this exact diner, but that didn’t mean it was any less familiar to him. 

The diner is, unsurprisingly, somehow both loud and quiet at the same time. There’s a small television mounted on the wall above the counter, blaring a cable news network. Every time it fades to commercial, Philip catches a hint of music from the speakers overhead, early eighties rock music with lots of synthesizer. 

At least it isn’t Christmas carols. That’s the only time when the diners feel more unwelcoming than comforting. 

There are a few people seated at the long counter, each staring down at their plate or phone or newspaper. Only two of the other booths are occupied; in one by the window, there's a man with a face carved from a stone block, skin littered with bruises, sitting across from a pretty girl with long blonde hair and reddened eyes. In another booth across the room, there are two guys who look like they’re in their mid-thirties, one of whom has a pride flag ironed to his denim jacket. 

Philip has spent the past half hour waiting, in the back of his mind, for Lukas to make some kind of disparaging comment about the patch. 

The comment never comes.

Despite the two cups of sludgy coffee he’s downed, exhaustion is starting to sink over Philip like a leaden blanket. He used to be accustomed to not getting much, or any, sleep, but since he was placed at Helen and Gabe’s, he’s actually been sleeping through the night. Most of the time, at least, so long as he has some music playing for background noise; the borderline silence of the country nights is still a little too jarring otherwise. 

He thinks that Lukas is just as exhausted. He hasn’t said anything for a long time. He’s just been playing with the remains of the breakfast he ordered; pushing bits of runny yolk around until hardened streaks of yellow trace across the entire plate, stabbing at the few home fries that remain until they’re marred with holes. His head is propped up on one hand, but every so often, it slips off and sags towards his chest for a few seconds, before he corrects himself and sits back up. 

“Are you alright?” Philip asks, and Lukas shoots bolt upright, eyes wide. 

“Yeah,” he replies. “Just tired, that’s all.” 

There’s still two hours until they have to be at the train station so that they can head back to Poughkeepsie, where Lukas’ bike is parked. Technically, they could probably head over there now, grab a little bit of sleep while they wait, but it’s not exactly the safest place in the city, even if it does have security that roam the halls and terminals. 

Besides, even if the vinyl underneath him is cracked and scarred, it’s definitely going to be comfier than slumping in the molded plastic seats at the station, and as long as one of them remains awake and orders some more food every so often, he’s fairly sure that the serving staff won’t tell them to get out. 

He’ll just sleep on the way home. He can wait that long. 

“You should get some sleep,” he says, swallowing down the last bitter dregs of his inky coffee. “Last thing we need is you passing out on the way home and wrecking your bike.”

“I’m not going to pass out,” Lukas retorts, although the slight slur riding along his syllables seems to say otherwise. When it comes to lying about things other than the status of their relationship, Lukas has a lot to learn. 

Philip could teach him the ropes, if he cared to. 

“Yes, you are,” he replies. One of the serving staff drifts by with a full pot of tepid coffee and, before Philip can even push his cup in their direction, they fill it up to the brim and disappear again. He takes one sip, enough so that it won’t slosh over the edge when he drags it with him to the other side of the booth, where Lukas is sitting. “Move over.”

“Why?” Lukas mutters, glancing up at him through a misplaced strand of his bleached hair. Philip’s fingers itch with the urge to brush it back into place. 

“So that you can lean against something a little more comfortable than that wall.” Lukas simply stares at him, his face washed out snow white in the harsh light, eyes definitely approaching bloodshot. Philip sighs and leans in closer, giving in to the urge tingling down his fingers and brushing Lukas’ hair away from his face. Lukas cranes into the flick of his fingers; the action is almost imperceptible, but it's there nonetheless. “No one’s going to recognize you. Not here. Besides, if anyone asks, you’re Rick Anderton, remember?” That brings a slight smile to Lukas’ face, just a quick quirk of his thin lips that Philip still counts as a victory. 

“Fine,” he says, sliding over in the booth until his side is pressed against the wall. Philip slides in beside him and pushes Lukas' plate over to the other side of the table. He tests the waters before he moves again, watching Lukas for any indication that he’s gone too far, pushed things too early. He starts slow, sliding across the seat a little further, until their knees brush together. Lukas doesn’t flinch away, so Philip goes one step further, slinging his arm around the back of the seat. 

Still no running away, so he lets his arm slide down, until it’s loosely draped around Lukas’ shoulders. If there’s anything that's going to make Lukas shut things down, it will be this. But he doesn’t shove Philip away, or duck out from underneath the weight of his arm. Instead, he shuffles even closer and drops his head against Philip’s shoulder, hair tickling against the side of Philip’s neck. 

Philip lets out a breath he was only vaguely aware of holding and takes another sip of his coffee. He can feel the caffeine and exhaustion battling for dominance in his veins and behind his eyes; for the time being, the coffee seems to be winning, if only by a hairsbreadth.

He’s pretty sure that he’s going to regret this in a few hours, when the crash hits him like a sledgehammer slamming into a concrete wall, but he’ll deal with that when the moment comes, and not a moment before. 

“How far is the train station from here?” Lukas mumbles against the side of his neck.

“Half an hour walk,” Philip replies, curling his hand around the slope of Lukas’ shoulder, running his thumb along a seam on Lukas’ jacket. “I’ll wake you up when we have to leave. Try to sleep.” 

“Okay."

As the minutes go by, Lukas’ head grows heavier and heavier on his shoulder, and his breathing deepens and relaxes, slow and rhythmic against the base of Philip’s neck. Philip sips on his coffee, listens to the television, plays a few games on his phone and tries not to think too much about the future that awaits them a few hours from now. 

He files this moment away with the rest of the good moments they’ve had so far; he files away the image of Lukas sleeping on his shoulder with the image of them kissing in the alleyway and the image of Lukas swooping for his mouth in front of the club, first hesitant and then unapologetic. 

In the few hours that they’ve been out of Tivoli, his mental _good moments with Lukas_ folder has almost doubled in size. 

He thinks that maybe that’s a sign they should get out of town more often.

**Author's Note:**

> as always, I can be found on [tumblr.](http://banshee-cheekbones.tumblr.com/) :)


End file.
